


The Fallen And The Falling

by SnowySithSam



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Aziraphale & Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fallen Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Flirting, Fluff, Godparents Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Good Omens AU, Good Omens Angst, Good omens smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Touch-Starved, good omens fluff, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-06-26 08:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19764505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowySithSam/pseuds/SnowySithSam
Summary: In which Crowley desperately wants Aziraphale to remember their friendship before his fall, but spends most of his time protecting the angel from outside forces,Heaven sends Aziraphale on a deadly mission, he can't deal with alone,and an Almost-Apocalypse sends two supernatural beings spiralling down a path of falling more and more desperately in love with each other.





	1. The Fall

Angels were, from the very beginning of their existence, predestined to be the most loving thing God would ever come to create. They naturally loved everything, every single one of God’s creations, every moment they could spend in the company of their people, they loved life and each other.

Knowing all this, it should have been no surprise for the archangel Raphael to feel love for Aziraphale, one of the newer acquaintances he had made here in heaven. What did surprise him, however, was that this time, it felt different than ever before: more intense, almost intimate.  
He felt nervous around the other angel, absolutely electrified whenever he could make him smile or laugh, and he unintentionally froze every time they touched, even if it was just a quick accidental brush of their hands or Aziraphale absentmindedly plucking a loose feather from Raphael’s perfect, white wings. 

He hadn't intended to tell Lucifer, but he spent so much time around him that he couldn't exactly keep it a secret forever. 

'You like him, huh?'   
The dark-haired angel froze in his movements, snapping his head towards his friend, who stood next to him.  
'What?'   
'Aziraphale. You like him.'   
'Of course, he's a very nice, compassionate angel.'  
Lucifer nodded, a small smirk now visible on his angelic features, as he retained eye contact.  
'He's very handsome too, isn't he?'   
Raphael could feel himself blushing heavily, quickly turning his gaze towards the ground as he felt his heart speed up to a rapid rhythm.  
'I'm not sure this is appropriate.' he mumbled, brushing his fingers through his long, wavy hair, trying to focus on anything but the image of the beloved angel in his mind.  
'I think he's very cute. You two fit well together.'   
Raphael took a step back instinctively, his face red in shock over the words of his friend.   
'I-I don't know what you're talking about.' he stuttered, his hands suddenly shaking as he felt his face heat up. The angel beside him laughed out loud at his reaction.  
'Of course, you don't, Raphael.'

Lucifer was, like him, an archangel, but that was not the sole cause for Raphael's fondness of him. He was, after all, the angel of healing, working to heal the body and mind of those, who needed him, and he had known from the first time they had met that Lucifer needed him, almost desperately so. 

He was different from the other angels, full of curiosity and doubt, and he didn't shy away from openly questioning Her motives whenever he felt like it. He was always honest and open about what he was thinking, which the archangel found impressive, but as honest as he was about his thoughts, as secretive was he about his feelings. 

Raphael could sense them, however, sense his friend’s longing for a change, for explanation and validation, could feel him getting more and more desperate day after day.   
It was what had originally pulled him towards the troubled angel, what had inspired him to try and help his agitated spirit be content once more, and he had been hopeful, for a long time, even. 

It wasn't until the earth was created when everything went downhill. They all sang and praised God in the six days of its creation, and even Lucifer seemed positively intrigued by this sudden change, all until Adam was born. Lucifer despised him and Eve and the simple, obeying relationship they seemed to have with God, because, or this was at least what Raphael suspected, he craved something just like that. He wanted people to follow his advice, look up to him instead of Her, and, after a while, he seemed convinced he was more worthy of their love and fellowship than God was. 

Raphael tried his best to ignore his friend's dangerous tendencies, but he was almost forced into spending more time with the plagued angel when Aziraphale was sent down to earth to guard the eastern gate of Eden, the garden, that God had created for Adam and Eve. 

He was crushed at the sudden disappearance of his favourite associate and, with his best friend now gone and his other friend seemingly turning mad, felt incredibly lonely in heaven. So much so, that he started finding himself agreeing with Lucifer's demented statements more and more often, occasionally meeting up with him and others who seemed to feel the same displeasure about the overall situation. 

Heaven, as it existed around this time, was a place of love and comfort, or at least this was what it was created for and what it felt like to most angels. Raphael, however, had lost all interest in his surroundings after Aziraphale’s sudden departure, perceiving heaven only as a cold place where he spent his existence patiently waiting for him to return.

Finding Lucifer's constant companionship increasingly toxic for his own mind and behaviour over the decades and his need to see his friend once more built up to an almost painful degree, he decided to visit Aziraphale down in Eden. 

▪

After leaving the cold, white, unforgiving halls of heaven, he was well-nigh overwhelmed as he took in the colourful, diverse beauty of the dense, lush garden around him. His mind was absolutely enraptured by the magnificent flowers and fruits around him, the life and love that the place radiated, and he felt a wave of instant relief wash over him, all of his troubles melting away into nonexistence as he gazed upon the beautiful garden surrounding him.  
He was somewhat hypnotized by the beauty all around him, all caught up in a trance of pure awe until he laid eyes on Aziraphale. 

The angel stood between the lush green of two giant trees, his white wings stretched out comfortably behind him, lightly moving in the soft breeze as he gently stroked his fingers over the delicate blossoms of a thin, wilting branch. The plant lightened up under his touch, almost leaning into it as it bloomed back up, promptly back to its previous glorious form, and he observed a content smile spread over the angel’s face.

The gentle rustling of grass against his bare feet gave Raphael away, so Aziraphale turned around, his mouth already opened for a cordial greeting (probably expecting one of the other inhabitants of the garden), freezing in place when his eyes met the ones of his old friend.

The dark-haired angel’s heart stopped when his gaze captured Aziraphale’s, all of his feelings coming crashing down on him in a matter of seconds. He realised how much he had missed his best friend, his companionship, his compassionate, loving nature; he realised, how different he felt about him than about anyone else, and finally, how much and how deeply he loved the angel that stood before him. 

His breath caught in his throat as the other angel took a few hesitant steps towards him, his blue eyes glassy, cheeks slightly blushed, contrasting against his light blond hair. Aziraphale’s voice was soft but slightly raspy as he cocked his head to the side and addressed his visitor lovingly. 

‘Raphael, my dear, is that you? I haven’t seen you in at least a hundred years, darling, how - ‘  
He couldn’t stop himself, not now, not after not having seen him for so long. Raphael closed the distance between them with two long strides, his slender fingers now suddenly cupped around the reddened cheeks of the blond angel and his own, chapped lips pressed against his.  
It wasn’t a gentle, angelic gesture, as you would perhaps imagine two angels kissing; it was a kiss full of emotion, love and desire, but, as much as Raphael had expected his friend to push him away in disgust or even horror, he had melted into his touch instantly, his soft lips moving against his own in a similar frenzy as he burrowed his hands in the thick strands of Raphael’s hair.

They broke apart, gasping for air, but still desperate for each other’s touch as they leaned their foreheads against each other. Raphael couldn’t think a single straight thought, his fingers still tangled in the short blond hairs at the side of the angel's neck, softly brushing his other thumb over the smooth skin of his cheekbone and temples.

‘I’ve missed you so much, Aziraphale… I’ve missed you so much.’

He hadn’t realised that he was crying until he felt the angel brush the warm tears from his cheeks and press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

‘I’ve missed you too, love.’ 

Raphael’s vision was blurry, his eyes still filled to the brim with tears as he forced himself to look Aziraphale in the eye again and gently take the other angel’s hands into his, lightly brushing a thumb over his knuckles.  
‘I have something to tell you, and I probably should have said this much earlier… Angel, I - ‘

‘So, this is it, huh?’ Lucifer’s voice was cold and impersonal as it cut through the serene sounds of the garden.  
‘This is Eden.’ The two angels flinched, immediately letting go of each other as they almost jumped metres apart. Lucifer erupted into a burst of bitter laughter.   
‘Oh, come on, don’t stop because of me. I’m just here to take a look at all this.’ He gestured around himself with a weird smile on his face. Raphael shuddered at his expression, quickly rushing towards his friend as he brushed the remaining tears from his face.   
‘Lucifer, I don’t think this is a good idea.’   
‘Oh, you don’t think? Why should I not be allowed down here, you are, right? He is, too, and we’re leagues above him.’  
Raphael felt his angel’s sharp intake of breath behind him at the rude comment and took another, bigger step towards Lucifer. 

‘I think we should go, Lucifer. Will you join me?’ He extended a hand towards him, gently urging him to take it. He felt his glare on him, taking in his posture, his expression, only then meeting his eyes.   
His hand instantly dropped back down to his side at the sight of the red, angry eyes that bore into his. These weren’t the eyes of his friend, nor were they the eyes of an angel, this was something else, something… evil.

‘Lucifer, please…’   
‘NO! I don’t want to go back there, not like this, I will not, I refuse! I refuse to be put down every day, I refuse to stand under Her, letting her reign over everything when it’s not right!’ 

Raphael raised his arms in a defensive gesture, tucking in his wings behind his back before he started talking in the smoothest, most calming voice he could muster.  
‘I know, I know it’s not easy, I - ‘  
‘Not easy?! Not fair, that’s what this is. I deserve a chance, I deserve to rule humanity! I want to walk with them in the garden, I want them to listen to nobody but me! I will ascend into the high heavens! I will take over the seat of the Highest! I will, I will, I will!’ His scream was now frantic, his voice rough and deep as he shouted upwards, his arms flailing in anger before he disappeared within the blink of an eye.  
  
Raphael did not lose time to turn around to Aziraphale, who stood there in shock, his eyes locked on the ground where the angel had just stood, and cupped his face with his shaking hands once more.   
‘Angel, listen to me. You have to listen to me, okay? Stay here, stay down here and protect them.’   
‘But - ‘   
‘Promise me, that you’ll stay down here, alright? I have to help, but I have to be sure you’ll do as I say, I can’t have you risking your life up there. The world still needs you, _they_ need you.’ He nodded towards where he imagined the two humans to be, and Aziraphale quickly nodded back at him, his light blue eyes now filled with tears of distress.  
‘Okay, I promise, I promise.’   
Raphael didn’t let him talk more than that, quickly pressing his lips to the blond angel’s one more time, almost drowning in the intoxicating dance of their lips before snapping his fingers and ascending back up into heaven, leaving Aziraphale down in Eden with a panicked expression on his flushed face.

▪

‘I will raise my throne above the stars of God; I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly, on the utmost heights of the sacred mountain. I will ascend above the tops of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High!’ 

Heaven was in chaos. Raphael could hear Lucifer’s voice loud and clear through the masses of angels surrounding him, and he could see the others on the opposite side, could see Michael and Gabriel standing strong in front of their army, ready to defend heaven with all their might. 

The angels around Lucifer cheered boorishly, suddenly turning from an absorbed crowd into a bloodthirsty unit of mad angels as they angled themselves towards the opposition.   
‘You will not win this, Lucifer.’ declared Gabriel, his voice calm and collected as his tunic blew in the wind.  
‘I will win whatever I want to, you dull creature. Angels, I command - ’  
  
‘Lucifer!’ 

Raphael had heard his own voice break through the uproar before he had realised he was doing so, making the rebelling angel stop in the middle of his sentence. He approached him swiftly, striding through the masses of angels that parted for him, stopping only metres in front of his Lucifer. He looked cold, hurt and broken, his pupils glowing bright red as they stared at each other. 

‘Lucifer, stop this, this is absolute madness…’  
‘This isn’t madness, this is justice! I deserve this, Raphael, you know I do, I can do this all better, I can manage this all better than Her!’ A small outcry went through the crowd of faithful angels, but Raphael wouldn’t budge.   
‘You deserve the world, Lucifer, but this isn’t right, this can’t be the right way.’

For a split second, when Raphael locked eyes with Lucifer, he saw his friend again, nothing but the sad, desperate eyes of a broken soul, but then they were back to the red, hardened eyes of determination.

‘There is no other way.’ 

With a furious scream and a flap of his wings, he jumped up and pointed his army towards the other angels as he lingered above them, and suddenly, with another roar, he almost exploded into a ball of fire. A hellfire, that floated above the ravaging angels, grew quickly, then formed itself into the form of an enormous, haunting dragon. 

Everything was happening so fast; Raphael could see the dragon attacking Michael, could see Gabriel struggling with four angels cornering him, could see everybody fighting valiantly - and yet he couldn’t bring himself to join the battle. 

He loved the archangels, even though he had never had the best relationship with any of them, but he knew that they were trustworthy people.  
He loved Lucifer like one would love a young, naive child or perhaps someone, who just needed help and guidance, but he could not justify his violent actions against the other angels. Still, he was his friend.  
And yet, who was he to choose a side, choose one friend over the other?

His radiant, green eyes filled with tears of torment once more, his mind back with Aziraphale, his angel. _His_ angel. The feeling that shot through his body from just thinking about him gave him every answer he had asked for, and, as he was conjuring up a sword and leaned forward to run into battle against the rebelling angels, _it came._

Light. Nothing but light. Just an overbearing, blinding, white light on all of them, a light which filled him with shame for hesitating, even though he knew he had ultimately chosen the right side. 

**_‘You.’_ ** God’s voice was loud, deafening and it stopped everyone in their actions.  
  
As time seemed to stand still, Raphael turned around, his eyes scanning the crowds for the other archangels until suddenly, his gaze was caught by the blond angel standing only several metres from him. _Aziraphale._  
**_‘You have disappointed me.’_ ** Her voice declared frustratedly, as Raphael extended a loving hand towards his angel in worry, taking a step towards his warm expression and open arms.  
He was another bit closer, so close to Aziraphale that their hands almost touched, when suddenly, as he took the last step forward, his feet didn’t find any solid ground under them, and he fell.

▪

There is a saying humans commonly use in situations of coquetry, mainly when trying to effectively entrance another being, that goes: ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’  
This complementary question obviously implies that the person being talked to has the appearance or demeanour of an ethereal being, and it is meant as a polite form of flattery.

For Raphael, however, it had hurt. Of course, it had hurt, to figuratively and literally fall from heaven, landing in a pool of boiling sulphur down in hell. Of course, it had hurt when his name had been taken from him, as were his looks, his likeness, his wings, his abilities. But nothing had hurt as much as knowing what had happened in heaven after he had fallen. 

He hadn’t just imagined Aziraphale’s presence in the room before he fell, he hadn’t hallucinated or wished him there; the angel had actually shown up in worry over him, even though he had promised him not to, just in time to see him being cast out from heaven for eternity.  
  
The blond angel had consequently snapped, attacked the other angels around him with his sword of flames, all while screaming about how they dared to cast out one of their best who probably had been their most competent man, about how Raphael didn’t deserve this, that this couldn’t be right and part of the Great Plan, that there had to have been some mistake. When they’d managed to calm the angel down, the others had tried to explain the situation, telling Aziraphale what Raphael had gotten himself into - being on the side of the rebellion, apparently - but this had just made Aziraphale rabid once more, and eventually, collectively, the angels decided to make him forget about the entire thing and send him back down to Eden. 

He’d forgotten all about him. About them. About everything. 

The nameless fallen angel let his fingers roam over the sulphur-soaked, now jet black feathers of his wings, sighing out loud. He had no reason to exist anymore. None at all. If his angel, the love of his life wouldn’t remember him, what was there to live for?

And with that thought, he threw himself back into the boiling sulphur. 


	2. The Ascent

Lucifer had changed. He was no longer the curious, broken being, that the fallen angel had come to sympathize with in heaven; he was angry, vengeful, evil, and so were all the others.   
A third of the angels had fallen with him, a third of God’s creatures banned from heaven to serve eternity in ‘hell’, a new, dark place very deep down.

It hadn’t been a shock to the nameless demon when Lucifer had called for him, just for the others to aggressively drag him through the dark and filthy corridors to find him in a big, dim room, sitting upon a makeshift throne. He looked different now, larger, his big, leathery wings spread over the dark throne behind him, the previously perfect, pale skin now dyed a dark red by the blood of the fallen.  
  
‘Satan, we’ve brought him, as you requested.’ croaked the demon who still had an iron grip on the nameless one’s aching shoulder. The fallen angel raised his eyebrows in amusement.  
‘Satan? Well, that’s one hell of a name choice.’  
Satan raised his arm, gesturing to his men dismissively. They immediately let go of the black-winged creature, stumbling back in fear as he fell forwards, down to the ground onto his scuffed up arms, raising his head slightly to playfully bow at the being before him.  
  
**‘** **My old friend, how have you been?** **’** Lucifer’s voice was no longer the smooth one of an angel, it was deep, and intimidating, like a combined roar of a dozen people shouting at once - a sound chilling down to the bone.  
‘I’m good, really. No complaints here.’ The nameless demon’s voice was smug and dripping with sarcasm as he stood up, brushing the dust and dirt from the black piece of cloth he was wearing.  
  
Satan waved his arms towards the other present demons once more, all of them rushing out of the room obediently.

The dark, red eyes bore into his, and the red-winged creature slowly leaned forward on the throne, an intimidating grin on its face.

 **‘** **I have a task for you, an important one. I know you’ll like it, even though you hate me for what I’ve done.** **’**  
‘I don’t - ‘  
**‘** **I know, what you think. I know, what you feel. I know you.** **’**  
The nameless demon swallowed in fear before he realised: He had never been scared of Lucifer, nor was he now, when he had absolutely nothing to lose anymore. He would certainly prefer death, even a slow and painful over spending eternity down here with them, _with Him._  
Not afraid to show him his mindset, he opened his mouth to throw some mocking sass at him, when Satan cut him off.  
**‘** **I want you to go back up there and make some trouble. I want you in Her oh-so-perfect world, and I want you to ruin it - for them and for Her.’**

The fallen angel didn’t hear Satan’s maniacal laughter that followed his words, too caught up in his own thoughts. _He could go back?_ Back to earth, back to the garden, he could go see his angel again, even if he wouldn’t remember him, could maybe even talk to him?  
His overwhelming emotions left him sobbing internally, struggling to keep his cool exterior in front of the devil.

‘Certainly, I will, Master.’ he muttered obediently, and Satan nodded, a grin still plastered on his face as he rose an arm towards him.  
**‘** **Oh, and another thing: You’ll need a body, a corporal one. Something inconspicuous.’** He snapped his long, bony fingers that were extended towards the nameless demon, and without warning, he could feel himself discorporating, changing and reforming. It wasn’t painful, not the process at least, not until he suddenly solidified on the ground, in a new, smaller body and opened his eyes.  
His vision was different, much brighter but less clear, and he flinched as he saw his forked tongue flicker out before his eyes. His tongue, _a snake’s tongue._  
  
**‘** **What should I call you, my friend** **?’**  
‘I already had a name.’ he resented, his voice deeper and almost hissing as he spoke.  
**‘** **I know you did. It’s not yours to claim anymore, neither now nor ever again. Now, you’re just a pathetic, crawly being, that is finally going to corrupt Her greatest creation. Cra** **wley, ha!’** Satan slapped the stone armrest of his throne, the sharp claws of his right hand scraping off parts of rock as his ear-splitting laughter made the snake shiver in its newly formed body.  
**‘Well, Crawley, I trust you won’t disappoint me. It’s us against Her now. Do your worst.’**

▪

Crawley was an ethereal being reduced down to its basics, damned to serve Satan and hell for all eternity in doing whatever they asked of him. In his new form, he had to learn everything anew, how to move, how to talk; everything seemed different now. He was able to change his snake-like body back into something that very remotely resembled what he used to look like, at least looking vaguely humanoid with his scrawny build, bony face and fire-red hair.  
What he was never able to change, were the eyes, that were now his. Large, greenish-yellow irises, only split by the vertical slits of pupils that always stared back at him creepily from the broken mirror in his quarter (he had broken it in a fit of anger when he had first seen himself in his new form and never bothered to fix it).

The demon had learned very early on in his demonic existence that, even though he could suffer, and that to great lengths, he could not die (even if he wanted to), at least not through something in his control. It was an epiphany, really. He’d thought having fallen from God’s grace had been the end, but it had rather been the start of something entirely new. This wasn’t necessarily something great or even remotely good, but certainly something new that gave him a purpose, even though he detested it with every fibre of his being.

He hadn’t had a choice, really, when Satan sent him upwards from hell, burrowing through the holy ground as a dark, miserable snake until he eventually broke through the crusty surface of the garden.  
The earth opened above him with an audible crack, and the pleasantly warm soil slid across his scales with ease as the fresh air hit him like a hard slap in the face.  
_He was back._ _  
_ He shook off the remains of dirt on his thin body, the once cosy grass burning against his soft underbelly as he crawled towards the woman. The sun heated up his scaly skin in seconds, and he let out a hiss of delight before he started whispering in Eve’s ear. 

▪

Tempting them really hadn’t been hard. Just suggesting the mere idea had intrigued her so much, that he didn’t even have to do anything more than watch the events unfold.

He was observing the two humans climbing through the small hole in the walls of the garden when he suddenly felt Aziraphale’s presence close-by, could sense his inner turmoil and nervousness.  
Instinctively, he started crawling up the rough, uneven walls of the garden until he found himself breathless as he reached the ledge right behind the angel’s white wings that rustled in the wind of an upcoming storm. A long feather of the tail ends of his wings brushed over the fallen one’s body as he slithered past him, turning his soul into a shivering mess.

It had been one of the hardest things Crawley had ever had to do, pretending he didn’t know the beautiful angel stood upon the gates of Eden, gazing into the seemingly endless desert before him.   
  
He felt Aziraphale’s lingering stare on him as he assumed his new humanoid form, eyeing him up and down until his head snapped forwards quickly as soon as he laid eyes on the deep black wings the demon unfolded behind himself.  
He gave his best to not look at Aziraphale but could see him out of the corner of his eye: a divine image of an angel, white wings and soft fabric fluttering around him. He couldn’t help but notice him anxiously clutching the golden ring on his little finger (which Crawley had gifted him early on in their friendship during his angelic existence), in fact, clutching it so hard that his knuckles were pure white from the pressure. 

Crawley stretched his wings out comfortably in the upcoming breeze, felt the cold, refreshing wind brush through his long, red curls and stared out into the desert. There was nothing there but light brown dunes for as far as the eye could see, only contrasted by the silhouettes of two humans fearfully striding through the new lands.

The demon took a deep breath, forcing himself to look forward, as he finally broke the silence.  
‘Well, that went down like a lead balloon.’

He felt the angel’s gaze back on him as he spoke, his following nervous chuckle sending sharp daggers through his heart as he struggled to casually look in the other direction.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ 

Turning his head towards the angel, he felt his heart speed up immediately, Aziraphale's hesitant gaze on him nervous and confused until their eyes met. For Crawley, it felt like fireworks exploding beneath his skin, a sort of happiness spreading through him he had thought he could never feel again after the fall.   
The angel still looked the same, and yet somehow different. His hair was the same, light shade of blond, but more messy and ruffled, his eyes still the same shade he had never seen anywhere else before, a divine combination of green and blue with golden specs scattered throughout, and yet, they looked different. 

Crawley would only a long time later realise, that this had not to do with Aziraphale's exterior at all, but it was the way he was looking at him in obliviousness that felt so strangely unfamiliar; he hadn’t recognised him.

As their eyes met and all these thoughts shot through Crawley's head at light speed, he saw the angel flinch slightly, his expression almost shocked for a fraction of a second.  
_His eyes.  
_Of course, he had expected this. Many times before had he stared at his own reflection, oftentimes in horror and disgust, but to see his angel so shocked by them somehow hurt even more.

He felt embarrassed, and it became increasingly hard to keep up his cool exterior.  
‘I said: Well, that went down like a lead balloon.’'  
‘Yes, yes. It did, rather.’ Aziraphale nodded, looking back and forth between him and Adam and Eve slowly advancing through the sand.  
‘Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me.’ Crawley turned slightly towards the angel as he spoke, the corners of his lips curling upwards slightly as he took in his confused, almost offended facial expression.  
  
‘First offence and everything. I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.’ The blond was now seemingly almost at a loss for words, only pulling himself together a few moments later, puffing up his chest slightly.  
‘Well, it must be bad,’ he muttered, his eyes now closed as if trying to remember a name he once knew and had now forgotten, as if feeling it just on the tip of his tongue. _He really didn’t remember him._

‘Crawley.’ The demon interrupted, thanked with a court nod. ‘Crawley.’ He gave him a brief smile, keeping his eyes on him.  
‘Otherwise,’ he murmured, pausing again for a deep intake of breath, his voice now a little softer as he raised his chin proudly, ‘you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.’ He was fidgeting with his ring again, and his wings twitched slightly as he spoke.   
  
‘Oh, they just said, ‘’Get up there and make some trouble’’.’  
‘Well, obviously. You’re a demon,’ Aziraphale replied softly, ‘it’s what you do.’  
The angel's eyes drifted back to the demon’s black wings, then to the small snake tattoo on his temple. Crawley was overwhelmed once more, for different reasons now.   
  
An angel talking to a demon was something, he had expected to be different. He had expected a general kind of condescending attitude, not necessarily arrogant but certainly somewhat biased.  
This was not that; the way the angel was treating him was the definition of kindness, with no implied judgement whatsoever. It was almost like he was saying: ’It’s what you do, and what you have to do, no judgement here; I know you have to, and you’re doing a marvellous job at it.’ 

Another long pause seemed to make Aziraphale uncomfortable as he started shifting his weight from one foot to another, however, now more confident in his words and actions, Crawley kept going.  
‘Not very subtle of the Almighty, though.’ The angel’s attention was back on him.  
‘Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a ‘’Don’t Touch’’ sign. I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain? Or on the moon?’ The angel's eyes widened at his words, nervously flickering towards the light blue sky above, then the dark clouds in the distance.   
‘Makes you wonder what God’s really planning.’ Crawley added bluntly, so the angel focused back on him entirely.  
  
‘Best not to speculate.’ he responded, his eyebrows furrowed as he nodded at the demon, wordlessly nudging him to stop.  
‘It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand. It’s ineffable.’   
Crawley’s lips quivered with unspoken words, his eyebrows now raised in question.  
‘The Great Plan’s ineffable?’ he questioned, the angel’s eyes now lighting up as he stood a little straighter.  
‘Exactly.’ 

Crawley took in the Aziraphale’s posture, his eyes gliding over his body, landing at his hands once more, this time in bewilderment.   
‘It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.’ the angel continued proudly, as Crawley’s gaze lingered on his hands where fidgety fingers were still turning and twisting the golden ring.  
_Something was different, something was missing, something - oh._  
‘Didn’t you have a flaming sword?’  
  
The angel looked incredibly nervous all of a sudden, his eyes flickering back and forth, settling down on his feet, avoiding eye contact altogether.  
‘Uh…’  
‘You did! It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?’ The demon kept digging as his gaze left the blond’s hands, sliding back to his highly uncomfortable facial expression.  
'Uh…’ he stuttered again, his voice quieter and avoiding as he shook his head slightly.  
_Or had it been taken away after the fall? Maybe talking about it would remind him that there had been something before this, something between them…_  
  
‘Lost it already, have you?’ Crawley grinned, the situation reminding him of the teasing conversations they had had back in the day about the angel’s clumsiness.  
Aziraphale’s head was still pointed to the ground as he blushed heavily, turning his head the other way, his voice almost inaudible as he answered.   
‘Gave it away.’ 

‘You what?!’ Crawley raised his eyebrows in surprise, his heart skipping a beat as the angel met his gaze with a tormented expression.   
‘I gave it away...’ His eyes were full of worry and concern, and Crawley couldn’t help but smile as the angel kept talking.  
‘There are vicious animals. It’s going to be cold out there, and she’s expecting already. And I said, ‘’Here you go. Flaming sword. Don’t thank me. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.’’’ Aziraphale inhaled deeply, pausing as if giving Crawley time to interject, but the demon was at a loss for words.  
  
_The angel had directly disobeyed God._ He had been so worried about the two outcasts and their future, that he had promptly, and without asking for permission, given away the only material thing She had ever given him.  
  
‘I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.’ Aziraphale uttered, staring upon the humans once more. Crawley was still lost in thought. He hadn’t wanted them to be defenceless and suffer needlessly, so he’d just given it away. How could a single creature be so unalterably kind? He recomposed himself.

‘Oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.’ Their eyes were glued to each other as they spoke, Aziraphale’s face suddenly overcome by an even bigger blush, his eyes full of relief as a hesitant smile played around his features.  
‘Oh, oh thank - oh, thank you. Oh, it’s been bothering me.’ His lips curled upwards in a genuine smile that sent butterflies surging through Crawley’s stomach, interrupted by a lion’s roar. 

Another one of the garden’s inhabitants had made it outside of Eden’s guarding walls and was now viciously attacking Adam, who had shoved Eve behind him protectively.  
  
‘I’ve been worrying, too. What if I did the right thing with the whole ‘’eat the apple’’ business?’ Crawly admitted, just as Adam swung the angel’s flaming sword towards the lion.  
‘A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.’ His eyes swung back to Aziraphale’s coy smile that suddenly fell as Adam dealt a fatal blow on the lion.  
The change of his expression went straight to his heart, and he felt overcome by the sudden desire to make him smile again, just somehow...  
‘It’d be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one.’ 

He forced himself into his best little smile and a gravelly chuckle as the angel’s expression morphed into a confused smile, and a small chuckle escaped his lips as well, before he broke eye contact and the smile fell instantly.  
  
‘No!’ His face was now visibly offended. ‘It wouldn’t be funny at all!’  
The angel’s blunt change of tone almost sobered Crawley up, putting him back into his place. _An angel and a demon, nothing more._ He still couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice as he answered: ‘Well…’

The dark curtains of clouds had almost reached their peak over them, when, suddenly, thick droplets of crystal-clear water began falling from the sky, running down Crawley's nose as streaks of pure white broke through the stormy blanket of grey before them, bright, forked bolts of lightning soaring through the graphite sky just before the roaring crash of thunder that followed.  
Taking an instinctive step sideways towards the angel, he heard a faint rustle next to him, suddenly not feeling any more drops hitting him. Noticing the edges of light feathers dangle almost out of his field of vision, he quickly realised Aziraphale had shielded him from the rain with his wing, and he could have cried out loud in simultaneous love and frustration.  
  
Crawley knew, if he hadn’t already been in love with the angel that stood next to him, this would have been the exact moment he would have fallen in love. The angels hands tightly folded before him, a small content smile on his lips as his beautiful eyes followed the rainclouds, his bright hair slowly sticking to his pale skin, yet he only thought of shielding the demon from the previously unknown phenomenon of rain.

How could a single being be so loving and compassionate, even towards a demon, his hereditary enemy? How could Aziraphale be like this to him, even now, not knowing him?

Crowley sobbed internally and took a deep, shuddering breath that he hoped, the angel hadn’t noticed.

He might have forgotten all about him, but he could certainly get to know him all over again and there was always a chance that he would remember.  
_One day._

And Crawley smiled again.


	3. Through Time

**1862**

When an angel is forced to lose its memory, there is close to nothing that can actually bring those memories back.   
The demon knew, but It’s not like he hadn’t tried to remind the angel; for centuries, Crowley, as he called himself now, had dropped subtle hints about his life before he fell or asked casual questions about Aziraphale’s existence before he was sent to Eden, but to no avail.   
He would either not remember anything, or, seldom, feel like he had forgotten something, as if it floated there in the back of his mind, but he could never quite grasp it. 

As much as he missed the loving interactions they had shared in heaven, he was eternally grateful for the fact that, over the millennia, they had become friends again. Of course, Aziraphale had been hesitant befriending a demon, but they had met countless times over the years, both instructed by their respective head offices to stay down on earth and look out for each other’s actions while performing various duties, and, after a while, the angel had even started instigating their meetings, especially after the establishment of The Arrangement™.  
It had brought them closer together, which was all Crowley really cared about, but he also knew Hell would absolutely destroy him if they found out about any of it. He wasn’t afraid of Satan, or about what they would do to him - he was, however, scared of what they might try to do to the angel.

Indubitably, he knew heaven would not be generous or forgiving either if they found out, but against them, he could fight; he had hellfire and the rest of his demonic powers, but he had nothing on hell, nothing to defend himself with, nothing…

Until he had an idea. 

▪

**1967**

‘You go too fast for me, Crowley.’

It had come as a surprise to him, Aziraphale’s presence in his car as he closed the door behind him, but not nearly as much as the angel’s following actions. 

Crowley had known that he was playing with fire as he’d planned the heist from the church, but he’d known his cause was good - he needed the holy water to defend himself, more importantly, defend his angel.   
The plan had been done, thoroughly tested and thought through, the participants had all been clearly instructed and paid, and he would soon have had a way to fend off hell, should he ever have to (which, he had accepted, was just a matter of time).   
What he had not expected was the angel to intervene, at least not in this way.

His long, slender fingers closed around the tartan thermos, feeling the dangerous weight within.   
_You go too fast for me._   
What did that even mean? Did he mean his driving, his racing tendencies whenever he rushed the Bentley through the crowded streets of London, or did he really mean what he thought he did?   
The gas pedal of the old car was pressed down to the floor as he flew across the busy crossroads, barely avoiding the busses that were passing in front of him.   
_You go too fast for me._   
He couldn’t possibly be talking about them, could he? It had been thousands of years since the angel had first met him as a demon, thousands and thousands of years, how could he possibly go any slower?

Crowley wasn’t an angry being, not by default. He hadn’t turned into the vile, vengeful creature his fellow fallen angels had turned into, his mind had stayed in a similar place as it had always been in.   
Crowley could, however, get very angry when he was frustrated, and the thing that frustrated him most was his overly complicated relationship with Aziraphale. 

The handle of the door to his apartment smashed into the wall behind it as the demon practically kicked it open, snapping his fingers to let it fall closed, leaving behind a massive hole in the wall.

‘I know you said you were gonna test me! I know you did,' he shouted, his head angled upwards as his arms flailed uselessly next to him, ‘but this, this can’t be it! I can’t do this. He’s - it’s too much.’ His closed eyes flashed with images of Aziraphale, his coy smiles, his fidgety hands, his blushing cheeks whenever he said something even slightly out of place, and his beautiful, glowing eyes...

‘Test them, test me, give me war, give me difficult people, even angels to deal with, heaven, give me anybody else, not him, not -,’ he paused for a moment whilst his sweaty fingers closed around the bridge of his nose tightly, ‘not these… feelings.’  
He sank down on his throne, defeated and dejected as he leaned his head in his hands.   
  
The silence in his apartment was overwhelming, no answer, no sign, there was nothing but almost painfully overbearing silence.   
_Did he mean it? Was he going too fast?_ _  
_ He mentally slapped himself. How could he have assumed, even after all these years, that an angel could seriously develop any kind of feelings towards a demon? He was surely just passing the time, happy to have at least some immortal company, even a demon would do for that. _Just for that._

The only light source in the room suddenly flickered and caught Crowley’s attention, an antique silver desk lamp, a piece that had never really fit into the aesthetic of his dark, clean flat, with its playful swerving curves and elaborate adornments that would fit much better into a Rococo ballroom in 18th century France than in the demon’s gloomy apartment, but, of course, Aziraphale had given it to him as a gift, so he’d kept it around. 

He rose his voice again, this time dripping with frustration: ‘What am I supposed to do here, huh? Give me a clue, because I’m fucking desperate.’

He flinched as the lightbulb exploded, tiny pieces of glass raining down onto the wooden table, his office now only lit up by the faint moonlight that crept through the big windows. His eyes snapped to the lit-up windowsill, the only thing the moonlight met directly, surrounding it with a mysterious glow.  
The dainty little plant he had kept there for the past couple of years, which had done wondrous things under Crowley’s ‘special care’, that had just a moment ago looked luscious and beautiful had now started wilting all of a sudden, quickly turning into a droopy dry mess.

Things like this happened more often than the demon would have liked to admit. Any time his emotions, mostly anger or sadness, threatened to overcome him, he noticed things happening around him that were vastly out of his control. It was mostly a case of objects vanishing, breaking, or, in this case, one of his favourite plants wilting away under his fingertips.

The demon’s eyes focused on the tartan thermos on the armrest in front of him. _But he had helped him, nonetheless._ The angel had given him something that would surely get him into big trouble if head office ever knew, he had disobeyed them to help Crowley. That had to mean something, right?

He jumped up, his head once more raised towards the high ceilings, as he spoke with determination: ‘I promise, if he ever says anything along those lines again, I’m gone. Off somewhere, where neither heaven nor hell can find me, without him.’

As he felt the tears form in his eyes, he sank back down on his throne, his face entirely hidden in his hands before he let the tears run freely.

‘I promise.’

**▪**

**1978**

If you’ve ever had a best friend, which, hopefully, you did, you know how difficult it is when certain situations force you not to talk to each other. It might be something as mundane as taking a test in school where the teacher forces you to be quiet, or it might be a serious argument you had, after which there’s just awkward silence between you and you both wish, the fight hadn’t happened.

Crowley had spent eleven years away from Aziraphale, keeping himself busy with any job hell could offer him, travelling as far away as he could from London, since every minute spent in the English capital alone was pure agony for him.

The flat he had moved into for the short times he did stay in London was a good one, one that he had now altered to look exactly like he wanted it to and very similar to his former one, but it certainly wasn’t the looks of it he wasn’t enjoying. It was the company (or lack thereof).

He knew the bookshop wasn’t too far away (one of the reasons he had left his previous flat), he knew he could just take a cab, take his Bentley or even walk over there, if the temptation ever got too much, but, as often as he struggled during sleepless nights in the dark apartment, he never gave in.

_He probably didn’t even want to see him._

Over the millennia that Crowley had spent on earth, he had, much like Aziraphale had learned to indulge in food, slowly found the human practice of sleep more and more enticing, until he had almost made it into daily (or nightly) practice. It helped him structure his busy schedule, and actually relieved him immensely after the often long and rough days he had.

It was one of these typical late nights that he carefully parked the Bentley before wearily forcing himself up the four slides of stairs to burst into the dark but welcoming flat that awaited him. He hadn’t had the chance to process the fact that he had finally arrived home after about a month spent abroad, when he noticed a noise from his office, the recording of his own voice noisily resounding through the flat.  
‘ - do it with style.’

He had owned the answering machine for a while, one of the earliest models of the invention, not ready to commit to the more modern machinery out there, but he hadn’t gotten a call in a long time now. _Or had he?_ He wouldn’t have known, always gone, far away from home and, consequently, far away from his phone.

‘Cr-Crowley? Good evening, this is Aziraphale. I suppose this will be another one of these blasted one-sided phone calls, but I really can’t stop calling you, I - I worry about… about you.’ The angel’s voice was rough and troubled, and Crowley felt his heartbeat quicken instantly as he rushed into his office. _Did he say he worried about him?_

‘As usual, I’ll start by saying: I hope you’re alright, and, if you are even getting these messages, I wish to tell you that I hope you’re good, you’re healthy and happy, wherever you are.’ Crowley’s skin flooded with goosebumps as the angel spoke with such love and kindness, and he slowly took a few steps closer to the dusty black machine that stood on his even dustier wooden desk.

‘Um… like every Saturday, I will be having my tea at the usual shop over by the theatre, and I’d love to invite you if you’re free…’ There was a long pause and Crowley could practically hear the angel think. His hand was now hovering over the phone, so very close to picking up, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not, while his breath was so obviously caught in his throat and he felt like he could burst into tears at any moment.

‘Maybe not there, I know you’re not too big on their pancakes. I’ll go wherever you want, I’ll pay, just… just call me back, please. I haven’t seen you in years, Crowley, I miss… Just call me back.’ And with that, the line was dead. 

Crowley let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, stumbling a few steps back into his bedroom.  
_I miss…_ Had he missed him? The demon felt his face heat up in a blush as he let himself fall backwards into the pool of black silk that welcomed him lovingly. 

He had missed him.   
Aziraphale had missed him.   
And Crowley would go and see him tomorrow.

▪

It had been a very restless night for the demon, because, even though Crowley had been awfully tired from his long and exhausting trip, he hadn’t been this excited in a long time.  
He would see Aziraphale today.   
_He_ had missed him.

His heart was racing as much as his mind as he strode down the familiar road. The people around him were in a rush, hurrying past him through the bleak morning mist, thick woollen collars folded up high against the cold. Crowley, however, did not feel the cold as he meandered through the crowds, though his reptilian skin usually shivered at the tiniest decrease of temperature, today was different; even if he had felt the cold creep through his thin, black jacket today, he wouldn’t have paid any attention to it, too caught up in his own thoughts.

He’d have to play it cool; behave, like this was totally casual, and in no way affected him as much as it actually did. _He was a demon; he didn’t care._

He froze his face in a permanent, neutral expression, and, as he pushed his fairly new pair of sunglasses back up his nose and crossed the corner to the street, where his destination lay.

The little cafe had always stood out, that was why Aziraphale had fallen in love with it in the first place, its exterior a bright, sun-yellow against the street’s general austere appearance, its interior dark and cosy, much like the angel’s bookshop. The red leather benches were old and worn out, the dark wooden tables scuffed and scratched, but it gave the place the kind of gentle, comfortable atmosphere you would crave on a misty morning like this one. Golden lights shone from the high ceiling down onto the tables below as Crowley reached the large window and stopped, his eyes hurriedly scanning the shop until they landed on the angel. 

He was dressed just like he always was, in bright, neutral colours, his light blue button-down slightly contrasting against his yellowish bowtie, topped off with his usual light brown vest and jacket. His blond hair was the same, maybe a tad longer than he had last seen it, as it curled down the angel’s temple.

Aziraphale was focussed on the celestial newspaper he was holding, the cup of tea in front of him steaming hot before he extended a skilled hand over it, effectively cooling the drink down to an enjoyable temperature and took a sip, a content smile spreading over his face as he returned to reading.

Crowley’s eyes changed focus, now meeting his own reflection in the polished glass. He looked absolutely miserable. His shoulder-length auburn hair was messy, his pale skin dull and dry, and his thin lips were curled downwards into a bitter frown.  
_He didn’t deserve this._ _  
_Aziraphale looked great, happy, even, in this new life without him. Who was he to come barging back into a life of perfection, just to ruin everything again with his demonic presence? Just to ‘go too fast’ yet again?

_This was a terrible idea_ , he thought as he turned his head to leave, his eyes stumbling across a small potted plant on the windowsill just behind the glass: a pretty plant with large luscious leaves and a big white blossom on its top. As his thoughts drowned him in the shattering truth that, after now, he would never see the angel again, the plant’s leaves suddenly drooped down, its blossom wilting instantaneously and unnaturally fast down into a brown, flaccid mess. 

_Not again._ He groaned internally, his mind clouded with frustration when suddenly, the car alarm behind him went off in a roaring siren, making him flinch in surprise and then curse silently, as he shut it back down with a quick gesture. _This happened way too often these days._

He turned himself around once more, as he realised his foolish mistake; a sudden loud car alarm in the peaceful silence of a calm street with few cafes?

Hoping, the guest he was trying to avoid hadn’t heard him or the noise he had caused, he slowly raised his head back up, immediately meeting the eyes of the blond angel inside. 

His eyes were wide open, as was his mouth, and within mere moments he had dropped his newspaper on the table, knocked over his teacup that shattered loudly on the wooden floor (for once not apologized profusely), and merely bolted through the heavy door onto the street.

The demon had been paralyzed from the moment their eyes had met, only following the angel’s movements behind his dark glasses, until he stood before him.

‘Crowley…’ Aziraphale walked towards him in slow, hesitant steps, as if he couldn’t believe this was actually happening, as if he expected him to disappear within the blink of an eye. He was only about a step away from him when he stopped.

‘Crowley, my dear… I - I haven’t seen you in so long, are you alright?’ The angel’s eyes were glossy and his cheeks blushed unmistakably as his warm hands found Crowley's arm under his long sleeves and clung onto him.  
The demon found his voice only moments after, focussing hard on maintaining a stable exterior when all he wanted to do is throw his arms around the angel and hold him close.

‘I’m good, angel, I’m good. Are you? You look… tired.’ Aziraphale never let his eyes leave Crowley, absolutely fixated on him, his smooth lips now curved into a bright smile.

‘I’m marvellous, darling, especially now that I know you’re not - you know, I was beginning to think you had… ‘ The angel’s eyes looked through him for a second as his smile vanished, replaced by a distant expression and the hand that still grabbed onto Crowley’s arm trembled briefly before he regained his composure and his expression morphed into a coy smile once more.  
‘Nevermind that. Can I persuade you to a nice cup of coffee? It’s on me, whatever you’d like!’

Aziraphale didn’t give him time to answer as he slid his arm through Crowley’s and led him inside. The warmth enraptured him immediately, from the outside as well as from the inside, and Aziraphale showed him to the table he had just been sitting at before leaving him to get them something to drink.

The demon felt his heartbeat slow down a bit as he forced himself to calm down, strenuously focussing on the outside of the shop as he waited. He watched the people walking past the glass, businessmen and women rushing through the cold beginnings of winter, hoping to find warm refuge somewhere close-by, and he began lazily miracling feeding pigeons out of the way of recklessly fast drivers. A twinge shot through his heart.   
_Too fast._

'So, eleven years...' The angel’s voice brought him back to reality, and he felt the heat of the cup of coffee in front of him before he even saw it. Bringing his skinny fingers around the porcelain, he felt himself calm down even more, now able to properly give his attention to the talking angel.  
  
‘What have you been up to?’   
'You wouldn't want to know.' He muttered, as his inner eye showed him glimpses of well-done demonic work.   
'Oh. So you've been busy.'   
'So you could say.' The angel’s smile turned a little colder, and Crowley felt as if someone grabbed his heart tightly and was threatening to rip it out of his chest if he didn’t make the angel smile again.

‘I’m sorry I never called you back, I never really spent much time around here, and…’ The words refused to come out of his mouth correctly, and he jumped on.  
‘What have you been doing? Is the bookshop still standing?’   
‘Oh, yes!’ Aziraphale’s face lit up instantly.   
‘It’s simply splendid, although, the other day, one crude woman actually insisted on buying a book! Can you believe that?’ The angel took a sip of his hot tea, and Crowley couldn’t help but smile.   
‘You know, usually, bookshops do those kinds of things, angel.’   
‘I know, I know, but me?’   
‘I know.’

Crowley’s heart picked up the pace again as his hand reached into the astral plane, pulling out the gift he had brought and placed it on the table between them.   
‘For you…’ he mumbled as he observed the angels pupils dilate at the look of the elegantly packaged present. His hand moved over it instinctively, his fingers brushing delicately over the thin paper.

‘I know you collect these, found this on a recent trip and thought you’d like it.’ Crowley took an overly casual sip of coffee as the angel picked up the book to unwrap it slowly, a small blush already visible on his cheeks.  
‘You...thank you, that’s really very nice of you.’

Bit by bit, he carefully removed the wrapping paper, as if ripping it would hurt it, and slowly uncovered the beautiful old clothbound book.  
‘Wilde, this is Oscar Wilde!’ The angel looked at Crowley in shock as he discarded the wrapping paper absentmindedly and a big blush spread over his face. Crowley smiled again, his heart suddenly warm.   
‘You have to tell me more about him some time, I know you spent some time with him.’   
‘Oh, I will… A First Edition, this is marvellous.’ Aziraphale flashed him a loving smile, sending butterflies surging through Crowley’s stomach. The book laid on the table as the angel carefully let his hands run over the spine, his fingertips delicately running over the old pages.

‘You didn’t read this, did you?’ There was a sudden hint of apprehension and fear in his voice that Crowley couldn’t quite interpret as he shook his head.  
‘You know I don’t read, angel.’   
‘Oh, well then.’ He returned his attention to the book, his eyes again full of glee. Crowley made a mental note to come back to this topic sometime.

‘I’ve wanted this edition since it came out, but it was never available here, how did you…?’  
‘I was there and I saw it.’ The demon didn’t even think to mention the awful lot of trouble he’d had to get into to acquire the book.   
‘No further questions. Thank you, Crowley, that is incredibly thoughtful. I’ll make sure it gets a splendid place in the collection.’ Crowley chuckled darkly.   
‘The shop, you mean?’ The angel looked back at him like he’d gotten caught with his hands in the cookie jar.   
‘Yes, of course.’

The demon put down his now empty cup, placed his hands on the table and took in the moment.   
It was a practice he had adapted several millennia ago, a way of taking mental pictures to remember certain moments for posterity. Even though he would have never wanted to admit it, Crowley was a sappy person; he liked to wallow in memories often, enjoy the good times he’d had the pleasure of sharing with the angel.

Hugging the book to his chest with one arm, the angel’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes in pure enjoyment. Aziraphale seemed lost in thought as he brought his other hand downwards to rest on the table, his fingers softly brushing over the knuckles of the demon’s own hand on the table. 

And his touch lingered for a second.

And Crowley felt happier than he had in a very long time.


	4. The Mission

**1989**

Angels were, by definition, a calm, loving race. They were created to love each and every one of God’s creations unconditionally, even if they didn’t particularly want to.   
Aziraphale had always fit into this definition perfectly. The angel had never so much as slightly disliked someone, always seeing the best in all the people around him. That had led him to believe, this natural state of his was the only and best version of himself he could ever be, content and loving, gentle and kind. That was, until Gabriel had sent him on the mission.

Crowley had started sensing a different kind of energy in Aziraphale over the past weeks, but hadn’t openly questioned him about it; he had those phases sometimes. The angel seemed distant and disconnected most of the time, and, when they were actually engaged in conversation he appeared nervous, almost agitated.  
He had invited Aziraphale to dinner in the hopes of taking the angel’s mind off of whatever was bothering him, and it seemed to have worked until, hours later, they sat on the large, comfortable sofa in the back corner of the bookshop, wine glasses in hand, and the waves of concern emanating from the angel started washing over Crowley again. 

His eyes were locked on Aziraphale, hidden behind his dark shades, observing how he nervously swished the wine around in his glass, the gold ring on his pinky clinking against the thin material over and over. His bowtie was crooked, his jacket long discarded on the armrest of another sofa, and his eyebrows were knitted together in obvious worry, his eyes distant and deep in thought.   
  
‘Angel.’ There was no reaction, not even the slightest movement of acknowledgement other than his chest slowly rising and falling with every shallow breath that he took.   
‘Aziraphale.’ He spoke a bit louder now, which made the blond jump slightly, locking his eyes on him immediately.   
‘Oh dear, I apologise. What were you saying?’   
_I’m worried about you,_ he wanted to say, _how can I make you feel better?_ The angel’s gaze was troubled but inquisitive, and Crowley noticed he was clearly trying to mask his distraught condition from him.   
‘What’s wrong?’   
‘Wh-what? Nothing is wrong, darling, everything is completely and utterly alright. Do you want some more?’ His shaking hand grabbed the open bottle of vintage wine from the round antique table in front of them, offering it to the demon. He shook his head softly, having to suppress a smile at the angel’s natural use of the word: _darling._   
‘I’ve known you for quite some time now, angel, I can tell, when you’re lying. Tell me, what’s going on?’

The blond put the dusty bottle and his half-full glass of wine down on the table and sat up straighter, his eyes firmly focused on his hands that were neatly folded in his lap now. His face was slightly flushed, Crowley couldn’t tell if it was from alcohol or tension, but he could feel the faint but quick vibrations of the angel’s heartbeat over the soft fabric of the sofa as he sighed deeply. 

‘I-I have to ask a favour of you, Crowley.’  
‘Oh?’ The demon rose his head in surprise.   
‘And you know, I don’t like to do this.’ Crowley nodded, unable to hide the small self-assured grin that spread over his lips at the thought of Aziraphale needing his help.   
‘What’s it to be, angel?’

‘I - They… Well…’ Crowley’s smile fell at the angel’s hesitation, his brows even more furrowed now while he still wouldn’t look up from his fidgety hands.   
‘I…’ He paused again and Crowley let go of the armrest he had been leaning onto, straightening up from his relaxed position.  
‘Are you in trouble?’ The angel flinched slightly at his inquiry, only very shortly glancing up at him.  
‘No, no, I’m not, I don’t - I don’t think? Maybe… Maybe I am.’ Crowley’s skin flooded with goosebumps, and the anxiety was clear in his following words.  
‘What’s going on?’ He felt his own heart beating faster now, not able to handle the thought of the angel in such danger that it would make him act as anxiously as this.   
‘They sent me on a mission that I don’t think I can handle - at least not on my own.’ Crowley nodded understandingly, wordlessly urging him on to continue talking.   
‘There is this man, a human. He’s been under the watchful eye of Gabriel for a couple of years now, but something has changed recently. He - apparently he’s figured out how to use occult power for his own benefit.’ ‘What?’ That couldn’t be right. A human using occult powers, how was that even possible?  
‘Yes, and I’m not the first angel they’re sending there to try and stop him… We’ve apparently lost 4 of our best.’ After this statement, there was only silence filled with utter confusion in which Crowley tried to convey his best bewildered expression. The angel understood his silent question.  
‘Hellfire. He conjures it like it’s nothing.’ The shock threatened to overwhelm the demon, and he could only think and speak one thing.   
  
‘You can’t go there.’ 

He heard Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath and reached up to pull his own sunglasses off his face to look him straight in the eyes. His expression was apologetic and helpless, his eyes full of fear as he spoke dejectedly.  
‘W-Well, I have to, it’s not like I have much of a choice.’   
‘You are going to die if you go. Permanently! Not some silly small discorporation, this is it. You will die!’  
‘And I’ll fall if I don’t. I need your help.’   
  
_Falling isn’t that bad_ , he wanted to say, _I’ll catch you_ , but he knew he would do absolutely anything in his power to keep the angel from meeting the same fate he himself had met so many millennia ago. _Anything._  
  
‘Okay, I’m in.’

▪

They had tracked the man down to a quiet little town in northern Scotland, and, upon doing so, had immediately gotten on the first train that sped through the murky afternoon towards Inverness.  
  
Crowley tried to relax as he let his eyes follow the beautiful landscapes that were quickly passing by the foggy window: serene lakes surrounded by old, enchanted forests that looked like they were taken straight out of a fairytale, high, well-formed mountains in the distance, some high enough so their peaks would just about vanish in the white of the lower-hanging early winter clouds and ruins of long-forgotten castles spread all through the countryside, abandoned and overgrown, some even completely reclaimed by nature.

It was all such a contrast to the busy city they spent most of their time in, the grey bustling atmosphere, the narrow streets, the small parks full of people and the feeling of eyes on you everywhere you went, even, or maybe especially, when you were a demon (or when your way of walking resembled a more flamboyant early 80s Mick Jagger performance).  
  
The demon’s eyes wandered away from the window, over to Aziraphale, who sat opposite him. Would he want to stay in London forever? Crowley could barely imagine what it would be like for Aziraphale to live out here in the countryside, maybe for them both to live together. A small house with a big library for the angel, a cosy living room where they could spend their time together and maybe a bedroom, where they could -   
Crowley shook his head as he felt his cheeks blush slightly. _Get your mind out of the gutter._   
He let his gaze drop down to Aziraphale’s hands. They were jittery, his knuckles pure white from gripping the thin old leatherbound book he had brought as hard as he could. The angel looked nervous, his eyes glowing in, what some might assume to be excitement, but the demon knew it was genuine fear.   
  
‘Hey.’ Crowley spoke in the softest voice he could muster, and the angel’s head snapped to him immediately, his stunning eyes practically dripping with uncertainty.   
‘Don’t worry too much, okay? We’ll be alright.’ The blond’s eyebrows furrowed in a flash.   
‘Oh, I don’t -’  
‘I know you do.’ His previously exhausted expression shifted, and he gave Crowley a small smile, before turning his attention back to the outside.   
  
‘I just had a thought.’ Crowley mumbled, and Aziraphale gave him a questioning look, his head slightly cocked to the side.   
‘We can’t just show up there like this.’ He gestured between them, and the angel’s expression morphed back into utter confusion.  
‘Like what?’  
‘Well, we don’t exactly blend in, you and I.’ He looked almost offended now as he straightened his bowtie and his posture at the same time.  
‘Oh don’t look at me that way, you know you’re still stuck in the 19th century.’  
‘Nobody ever suspected me of anything!’  
‘That’s because you’re an angel, you exude that innocent energy. He’s familiar with the occult and etherial, though, he’ll either be completely immune to your energy or, even worse, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. We can’t allow ourselves to attract attention through our clothes as well.’ The angel's eyes were understanding as he nodded slowly, and looked through him for a moment.   
‘Oh dear. So, what do we do?’  
‘I have an idea.’ _Might as well have some fun with it._

▪

‘I know you enjoy fashion, Crowley…’ The angel hesitantly stuttered as he examined the ridiculous outfit Crowley had miracled onto him, and Crowley couldn’t prevent a burst of stifled laughter from escaping his mouth. He had put Aziraphale in a normal, well-tailored contemporary suit, that was, completely incidentally of course, entirely made out of different coloured neon fabrics that shone luminously against the angel’s pale skin and made him look more uncomfortable than the demon had ever seen him.

‘I know you like to go with the trends, you go fast, that’s what you do,’ Crowley shuddered at the unintentional word choice, but the angel kept going, ‘but this is truly horrendous. I would rather wear nothing than any of these clothes!’ The demon grinned as he felt a wave of warmth shoot through his entire body.   
‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’  
‘Crowley!’ The angel blushed deeply and protectively rose a hand over his own chest.   
‘I’m just joking, give me a second.’

He snapped his fingers again, and, as the angel emerged from the fading bright light that had surrounded both of them for a moment, Crowley’s throat went dry. He had, of course, chosen the outfit he saw before him, had actually thought it up right then and there, but to actually see the angel in it...

‘How ‘bout that?’ His own voice sounded audibly strained, but he hoped Aziraphale hadn’t noticed, too busy looking down on himself in awe. Crowley knew he was one to prefer bright clothes and pastel colours, especially a good creme or beige - earth tones, generally, something that made him feel connected to Her every second of his existence.  
What he wore now was quite similar to the things he usually did, just a little more updated to the current fashion trends: the creme three-piece-suit a different fabric, a little tighter, more well-tailored, the pastel blue shirt underneath approximately six buttons less buttoned than usual, showing off just that perfect amount of light blond chest hair on the angel’s pale skin that made Crowley ache with want to reach out and run his fingers through it. 

‘Oh, this is - this is nice! Thank you. You think is more inconspicuous?’ His fingers made quick work on buttoning up the shirt almost completely, leaving only the very top button undone.  
‘Certainly.’ Crowley straightened the cuffs of his new, almost-all-black suit he had miracled onto himself and pushed a strand of his hair out of his face into a slightly more gelled back style. Once the angel laid eyes on him as he answered, he only stared, and the demon wondered whether he had overdone it with the look before the angel spoke hesitantly.   
‘You look… good.’ He sounded so nice and genuine that Crowley felt himself blushing slightly, quickly turning away as casually as possible so it wasn’t obvious to the angel.   
‘Shut up.’

▪

It hadn’t taken them long to get there. Their train had miraculously skipped certain stops and, unbeknownst to Aziraphale, generally moved with a much higher tempo than trains usually did, thanks to Crowley.  
The driver of the cab they had taken upon arriving in Inverness had given them an ominous look before he sped away, leaving them behind at their destination: an old, worn down, abandoned factory. 

‘This isn’t what I expected.’

The seemingly once bright exterior was now completely covered in bright orange rust that shone even in the murky light of the cloudy day, and plants were overgrowing everything they could reach, from the ivy that wound its way up the high walls to the other wild plants pouring out of the broken windows and even through some parts where the roof had apparently given in.

‘It’s so cliché, something’s definitely wrong here.’ Crowley mumbled, and he noticed Aziraphale forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  
‘Well, it’s where my contact told me he was hiding.’ They shrugged and started moving forward.   
  
Getting inside proved difficult, and only after a while did they find an entryway through a large, collapsed gate Crowley held open for Aziraphale to slip through. Managing to push himself through the narrow gap, he immediately bumped into the angel, who had stopped cold right behind.   
‘Crowley, stop.’ A hand suddenly brushed against Crowley’s chest as Aziraphale blocked him from advancing past himself through the dimly lit corridor. He looked taken aback as he seemed to listen out for any kind of sound. Crowley interrupted him.   
‘What, are you scared of a little darkness?’ Swatting his hand away, he took another step forward before Aziraphale pulled him back again, and he was forced to come to a halt once more.   
‘Crowley, I’m serious.’ His warm fingers closed around the thin fabric of the demon’s shirt right over his chest, the other arm pushed before him almost protectively, holding him in place. Crowley stopped for a moment, feeling his heart speed up at their closeness, but when the blond showed no intention of moving, he brushed him off and walked past him nonchalantly, turning around only to throw a smirk back at the frightened angel before he turned a corner while talking.   
‘I am too! Let’s find this idiot and put this behind us.’

Crowley heard Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath, but only for a moment before his loud footsteps drowned out any other sounds around him.  
‘Look at this!’ Before him, the corridor split into two different directions, creating a small gap in the wall in front of him, which held a medium size stone statue of some kind of winged creature, that sent him delving into memories.   
  
‘Hey, come look at this, it looks just like the statue from that church where I saved you, remember? Blasted Nazis.’ He smiled at the fond memories of his triumph, especially knowing that said statue had not only survived the heavy bombings of the Second World War, but now stood, safe and sound, in a corner of his flat.   
  
Crowley liked to keep mementoes, little souvenirs of important moments, just to make them even more memorable.   
He’d kept things all the way from the beginning, had, for instance, raised a tree from seeds he’d kept from Eden (in fact, many generations of said tree over the millennia, and currently had a very young one of them sitting on the windowsill of his bedroom, which was doing amazingly), or had kept his first up until his most recent attempts at fashionable sunglasses to hide his peculiar eyes from inquisitive humans - they always made them somewhat suspicious, and he didn’t exactly want to be mistaken for a witch _again_ . 

Being a big fan of art, he’d acquired paintings far beyond his favourite, the sketch of the Mona Lisa; he’d met many talented artists back in the day, had even gotten a portrait done of himself once, that he never felt narcissistic enough to actually display anywhere, not that it’d flatter his minimalist interior design.  
He’d kept letters, not all of them of course, but many from his earlier correspondence with Aziraphale, some from other old or new friends he’d made over the years, even some of his own he’d never been courageous enough to send, but, most importantly of all, he’d kept his one true love, his precious, treasured 1926 Bentley, and in perfect condition too. _One true love, huh?_

It was only when he ripped his gaze from the withered statue in front of him that he realised Aziraphale had not yet caught up with him.   
‘Come on, hurry up, angel.’ He called out into the darkness and listened for a response. Nothing.   
Not a shuffle, not a resonating step of shoes on the plain concrete flooring, just silence.   
‘Angel?’ Suddenly concerned, Crowley charged back around the corner into a, now, completely vacant corridor. No angel.   
‘Aziraphale!’   
  
There were only two ways he could have gone, either he had advanced past the corridor Crowley had taken, or turned back entirely. The demon favoured the latter and sprinted back outside as fast as he could.   
The dark clouds had opened up, and the harsh, cold raindrops hit his face immediately as he stepped outside, but he couldn’t spot his friend anywhere. Why would he have gone past him without saying anything? Why had he not heard him? Something must have happened, Crowley was sure of it.   
  
He turned back to the corridor, advancing quickly but silently now, aware, that danger might be lurking much closer than he had previously thought.


End file.
